


Morning Star

by nicoleiacross



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, M/M, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 11:49:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9547865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicoleiacross/pseuds/nicoleiacross
Summary: When Ignis went to investigate the club that Dino's always hyping up, he hardly expected the results he got.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Huge, huge thanks to [@heyjealousy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/heyjealousy/pseuds/heyjealousy) for encouraging me to do this. /)///(\ been a while since I tried anything like this.
> 
> Anyways, these two chapters takes place before the main story (which I'll start posting at a later date), but I needed to get it out of my system, so have some Gladnis \o/
> 
> And, in case anyone doesn't know the referenced song [here ya go](https://youtu.be/RaG8faaFUMM?list=RDRaG8faaFUMM)

The first time Ignis visits the establishment, he does so based on a recommendation from an acquaintance.

Not a friend or even someone he speaks to more than once or twice a week. Someone he works with and maybe sees once a month to discuss article publication.

Dino had _sworn_ by the place, sparing no praises whatsoever for the business—the dancers and alcohol selections, especially. And, while Ignis would normally brush such nonsense off... he knows for a fact that Dino has an eye for the finer things and sells nothing for more than its worth.

He doesn't _think_ Dino knows his orientation and, frankly, Ignis had never suspected Dino to be on the same end of the spectrum. He later learns that the man is just _highly_ attracted to anything—anyone, in this instance—that manages to catch his eye; that it's more of a visual appeal that turns into sexual appeal over time. Honestly, Ignis isn't sure what he was expecting, but that somehow makes perfect sense and he never brings it up again, to Dino or anyone else who may have thought to ask.

Regardless, the first time Ignis sets foot inside the building, he's almost immediately impressed with the interior. The soft lighting along the walls, brighter lights near and above the stage. The lighting on the stage is enough to reach the bar; though, the bar's main source of light seems to be from the wall display of various alcohols. The stage is large—large enough to branch off to four patron tables, to have three catwalks into the crowd (on either end and down the center), and enough that a staircase at the back of the stage is nowhere close enough to cause incident of the dancers. The staircase leads up to what looks like a stage prop second floor and leaves Ignis wondering if the doors actually lead anywhere or are just for show. Perhaps to dressing rooms. Either way, the second floor is clearly meant only for the dancers.

Now that Ignis has confirmed his surroundings to be worth his time—sanitary being the priority in this instance—he finally spares a glance to the various employees.

He assumes that the waiters on the floor are all dancers waiting for their rotation, based solely on the fact a number of them already have a considerable amount of money peeking out from the hems of remarkably form-fitting... attire. He's not certain he would qualify those as pants or any other manner of clothes, but... they are appealing in their own way. Some of the waiters choose less suffocating outfits—considerably less, in the form of a black thong covered only by a waiter's apron. There are other outfits, but that's the one that stands out, if only due to the remarkable amount of bare skin shown.

Instead of staring much longer—already aware that he's been leaning on a back wall, observing, for about five minutes—Ignis finally makes his way to the bar, mindful not to run into any of the waiters, and settles himself into one of the barstools. Immediately, the bartender's attention is on him, offering him a welcoming gesture and tipping his head in greeting.

"Welcome to Morning Star. What may I offer you tonight, sir?"

In turn, Ignis returns the grettings with a nod of his own, his eyes scanning the wall behind the man, his eye almost immediately falling on the wine selection in surprise, "I'd imagine it's rather expensive to import Altissian wine... Altissian Red Mist, please."

The bartender flashes him a charming smile, "A wonderful choice, sir." As he's turning to secure the bottle, he continues the idle chatter, "Shall I guess this is your first visit?"

Despite himself, Ignis finds himself smiling, "Is it so obvious?"

"I work the bar every night," The man explains with a laugh and gestures around the club once he's slid the wine glass towards Ignis. He fills it halfway, hardly paying mind to the task at hand and still managing not to spill a single drop, as he continues, "Rather easy to spot new patrons that way. May I ask how you heard of our establishment?"

"A passing word from a work associate." Ignis sighs, content and slowly calming, as he takes a small, testing sip. He eyes the bartender, glances at the tag on his vest, before he looks back out over the crowd, noting that there are steadily less dancers, "Are you the owner, Mr. Weskham?"

The man laughs again—good-natured and easy-going—and shakes his head, "No need for that, now. Just Weskham will do. As to your question, I am not. The owner is in the back, at the moment. I'm certain he'll be out as soon as they finish drawing lots." Ignis must look confused because the man makes an explanatory gesture towards the back side of the stage, towards a large opening obscured only by a thick curtain, "We've a number of dancers. We can't have them _all_ on stage at once; so, they draw lots to see who competes for attention every night. Some nights we have requests; but, so far tonight, we haven't. So, they're drawing lots—well. Most of them." The man laughs again as someone joins them at the bar and nods a greeting to the new man, "Not participating tonight, Gladio?"

Instinctively, Ignis tenses up when the man is suddenly standing so close and leans away with a small scowl. There's plenty of the room along the bar and absolutely _no acceptable reason_ for him to be standing so close.

The reason—even less acceptable than he presumed—turns out to be that the man can easily reach across the bar to grab the bottle of whiskey just behind Weskham's arm. Once he's secured the item, he moves down—about a seat and a half's distance between them now—and leans on the bar, taking a long swig of the alcohol straight from the bottle. The bottle slams back on the table and the man lets out a breathless laugh as he works past the burn.

As much as he doesn't want to be, Ignis is honestly impressed. He's not sure how much was in the bottle to begin with, but he's fairly certain the man just downed a quarter of the bottle in one go and doesn't look the least bit effected.

 He eventually turns his attention towards Ignis instead of the barkeeper, "New blood in the middle of the week... that's not too common. I expect this to mean we should anticipate all sorts of fun in the near future."

As offended as Ignis wants to be— _is_ —he settles for another scowl as he gives the man a quick glance over. Gladio, however, seems to know exactly what he's doing and shifts from his forward lean, to resting on one arm, so his body is angled towards Ignis. One arm rests on the bar top, fingers drumming along to the music above the stage, while his other arm rests with his elbow on his hip. He shifts his weight a little, but overall remains still for the inspection.

Like most other workers, Gladio's entire outfit is black... though, it's rather casual compared to others. The open vest proudly displays a well-toned, muscular torso and the lights from the bar help show the details in the ink covering his arms and part of his chest. Meanwhile, the black pants—they look smooth; maybe denim, probably not leather, and Ignis has a sudden urge to touch the fabric just so he _knows_ what it is—leave just enough to the imagination. They offer breathing room and are really only tight enough to present a _very_ accentuated view of his ass when he moved in certain ways... not that Ignis was _staring_ earlier, but it was rather difficult not to notice when he leaned over the bar.

At any rate, he's making absolutely no effort to _not_ show off the fact he's confident in his looks.

Though, truly, the most uncomfortable part is the small nagging in the back of Ignis' mind that says he should know this man. He should and, for the life of him, he cannot place _why_ or _where_ he could have possibly seen him. He can't even call it uncomfortable, so much as mildly annoying when he can't immediately make a connection to anyone he knows.

Instead of commenting on the display or trying to get an answer to where he could possibly know the man from, Ignis tips his head towards Weskham, "I do believe, he was speaking to you."

For a moment, he's satisified by the surprise that lights up Gladio's eyes; the way his brows raise to accentuate the expression. But, only for a moment... and it _barely_ takes that long for the man to recover with a surprisingly open laugh. Not the charming or coy laugh that he's been observing among other dancers and waiters; but, a surprisingly honest laugh.

"Where'd ya find this one, Wesks?"

"While I enjoy that you presume me to be all powerful in bringing in clientele, he is not here on my invitation." Weskham chuckles, seeming absolutely none too bothered by the fact he's been ignored, that his question still hasn't been answered, or by any of Gladio's behaviour, "I do hope he'll accept an invitation to return, however. I rarely find company to discuss fine wine with."

"I still think you should've stayed on stage."

Ignis barely hears the disgruntled mumble and throws the bartender an alarmed look, "You used to—?"

Weskham shrugs, unabashed and still smiling, "Times change. Just ignore Gladio."

"Hey, some people dig older guys."

"I am old enough to be your father, boy; and, do not think for one moment I won't get him involved and have you removed from the immediate vicinity."

Gladio scowls, but it doesn't reach his eyes; bright amber eyes that sparkle with a rebellious sort of mischief and still manage to look inviting. Likewise, Weskham's words pose no real threat. Before Ignis can ask, he notices the lights getting darker. Everywhere except the stage and looks over his shoulder in hopes of answers. What he gets, instead, is Gladio laughing and instinctively turns his attention towards that instead.

"Asked about the lots, right, Wesks?"

"Which you completely ignored."

"Prompto's drawing. He is _drunk off his ass_." Gladio acts like Weskham didn't interrupt him and is still laughing, "I'm good, but even I am not yet brave enough to be in a lot drawing with that kid when he's drunk. Mostly on account that if he gets handsy it's too weird, even for _me._ Also, Loqi. Not goin' up there with those two competing with each—oop. There's Ravus, gotta go—unless," Gladio turns a wide grin towards Ignis. It doesn't lack charm and Ignis doesn't miss the way that Gladio looks him over, "You wanna give me a reason to stay over here?"

"I think not."

Despite the rather cold reply, Ignis can feel warmth on his cheeks and, loathe as he is to admit it, the sexual appeal to such a simple question and such a practiced smile _is_ drastically effective. Enough so that he is _not willing_ to test those waters. Not yet—maybe not ever... at least not until he understands _how_ Gladio is equal parts _annoying_ and attractive enough that Ignis feels inclined to overlook the annoying bits.

Gladio, in turn, heaves a dramatic sigh and shrugs, "Eh. Worth a try. I'll be on the floor, if you change your mind."

There's another invitation behind the words, a rather obvious one, before Gladio disappears into the crowd of other patrons.

Ignis releases a breath he hadn't even realised he was holding and tries to shake the unknown nerves from his system. For a moment, he glances at the stage; there's seven men—one at each table, at the end of each catwalk—and as distracting as the fluid movements _should be_... they aren't nearly as intoxicating as being in the same space as Gladio had been. For that much, at least, he is thankful and slowly turns back to Weskham, intending to ask for another glass of wine.

He stops short when he notices the amused curiosity on the man's face and frowns, hoping his face isn't nearly as flushed as he felt.

"What?"

"I've known that boy since he was learning to walk and I have _never_ seen him so flustered." The bartender looks endlessly amused when he gathers the forgotten whiskey bottle and returns it to the counter behind him. Even when he glances towards the crowd in search of Gladio with a rather parental fondness, there's still a spark of amusement in his eyes.

 _That_ was flustered? Ignis feels less inclined to believe the words than he's willing to let on... but, he must look remarkably doubtful, because Weskham laughs.

"Gladio doesn't drink whiskey, unless he's nervous about something. It's about the only drink that can get him anywhere near tipsy, the poor sod. Watch him. You'll see."

Ignis isn't sure he _wants_ to see... but, he's also still quite convinced that _clearly_ , Weskham has gotten into his heavy liquor and doesn't know what he's talking about. So, instead of watching the competition (that is slowly becoming something just short of an orgy) on stage, Ignis tries to navigate the dark to find Gladio.

It isn't terribly difficult. The man is easily the broadest person in the house and his silhouette is easy enough to spot. Close to the stage, back and shoulders accented by the bright lights behind him when he braces his hands on the back of a patron's chair. A moment too late, Ignis realises that he's staring—that he's watching a lap dance. A rather _involved_ lap dance when nearby patrons reach for anywhere they can touch—anywhere they can slide tips to be permitted to the touches, even when Gladio's attention is almost entirely on the man he's straddled.

Almost entirely.

The stage lighting is enough for Ignis to see Gladio; and, the bar lights behind Ignis are apparently enough for Gladio to see him.

Almost entirely.

Once Gladio glances over, once he notices Ignis staring, he doesn't break eye contact. Even when he leans into the touches around him, even when Ignis lets his attention stray just enough to watch the way his body moves. Gladio's attention is on _him_ , just as much as it is on the task at hand.

Ignis manages to look away completely and quickly turns back to the bar, trying to will his pulse to slow down, to regulate his breathing, to gain _control_ of himself. He hopes his voice doesn't shake too much when he tries to distract himself, even a little.

"The establishment has rather... lax rules, doesn't it?"

Weskham laughs a little, momentarily distracted when another waiter sets a tray of used mugs nearby and Ignis sits up a little straighter in surprise.

"I assume you mean the fact patrons are... slightly more physical than other clubs?"

"That's certainly part of it... I'm more curious about the names. I gather they _aren't_ stage names?"

The bartender gives a vague shrug, but doesn't deny the observation in full, "Does Gladio look like someone that would be easily taken advantage of?" The man hums a little, "Regardless, I'm certain you noticed the stage seating is sectioned off. The club does have a membership program for a reasonable enough fee; stage seating is one of the perks. Stage seating allows for touch-free lap dances. Tips allow for some touching—at least where skin is exposed."

Ignis nods a little to show he's following and doing his best to ignore as the tempo of the music picks up, as it transitions into a new song. It takes more will than he cares not to look over his shoulder to see if Gladio's changed patrons.

"An extra forty will get you a private, two-way contact dance." Weskham continues, nonchalantly, his face suddenly lighting up with an amused smile. Ignis can only assume his face is flushed, but he doesn't draw any further attention to it and just makes a point to look at a spot on the bar.

"You know, Gladio was always an oddball as a child."

Ignis startles at the abrupt, random topic; but, he appreciates Weskham's attempt to distract him. The bartender looks down at the glass he's polishing as he continues.

"Always getting into all sorts of trouble. I was good friends with his father, so I was frequently around when he was growing up. Boy could get into a fight without second thought, especially so when someone he loved was threatened. Most of his fights were standing up for himself, though and I don't think he ever grew out of it. This environment gives him a little bit of everything he loves."

Weskham glances up, but doesn't watch too long; Ignis can only imagine what's happening on stage, what's happening around the stage, based on the way the music is steadily being drowned out by the crowd's calls and cheers and whistles.

"Much as he loves a good fight, he loves dance. Classical, street, new age, free form, ballroom... you name it, he's probably studied it. His father was wary, but never tried to stop him. Gladio understood his role in the family and underwent all of the classes that were expected of him; but, in return, he was _adamant_ that he be allowed to choose what he used his free time for. One year it was ballet; another, it was ballroom; another, a friend from high school introduced him to street dance. Improv. Tap, at one point." Weskham laughs in a dismissive manner, shrugging one shoulder to apologise, "Either way. Gladio is nothing short of confident. I'm sure you've noticed that much. He _knows_ who he is. He knows _what_ he wants of himself and what is expected of him, both here and at home. I've never known him to be irresponsible, even when he decided that making a fifteen-shot train of flaming jaeger bombs at two in the morning is a good idea."

Ignis tries to think of a plausible reason _anyone_ would make a train of flaming jaeger bombs; Weskham just spares him a smile instead of expounding any further on that particular story. Like he's telling him to just ask Gladio himself.

"My point was, Gladio is rarely nervous enough that he deems it necessary to drink whiskey. I should be worried... do you know why I'm not?"

Ignis stays quiet, contemplates the answer with a frown before he tries to answer, "You trust him."

"I do." Weskham confirms. The smile fades for the briefest of moments; accentuates how fully the man believes those words, just as much as he believes in Gladio. The moment passes and he's smiling once more, gaze traveling down the bar where another lap dance is happening, "There is more to it than that... But, for now, I suppose I'll just be the faithful barkeeper, watching the flock."

Before Ignis can try to argue the metaphor, there's warmth around him. Arms on either side of him, palms pressed against the bar; just enough space between bodies that there isn't a _complete_ invasion of personal space. He doesn't feel as tense as before—he presumes because he's still rather frustratingly turned on from the show a few moments prior—and nearly shudders when warm breath hits his neck and there's a deep voice right next to his ear.

"Take me up on the on that offer?"

He'll question the situation as a whole later. Right now, he either needs to find somewhere to be _alone_... or, preferably, let Gladio lead him to the back rooms.

It's difficult to think with the heat around him—to keep his head clear—but he makes at least some vague effort when he tries to ask, "I assume there are steps required—"

"Wesks, would you handle the papers for me?" Gladio leans closer to the bar, still careful not to actually touch Ignis, "If Ravus comes looking, tell him I'm with someone?"

"You'll get in trouble for this one day," Weskham grumbles, quickly jotting something onto a card he pulled from beneath the bar before turning it and sliding it towards Ignis, "At least let him fill this bit out on his own. I can't keep you out of trouble forever."

Gladio hums and finally pushes off the bar, easily settling in the stool next to Ignis. He scowls when Weskham slaps his hand, stopping him from reaching the whiskey a second time. Ignis fights down the smile by focusing his attention on the card curiously. A small selection of checkboxes, of various prices for dances—non-contact to just short of sex. Standard enough. A moment of consideration and he finally settles—a single song, just to test the waters, he tries to tell himself. It isn't as though he can't request another dance. He slides the card back to Weskham, "This will suffice, I presume?"

Weskham slips the card away before Gladio can lean over to see it (promptly ignores the scowl it earns him) and nods, "Lovely, Mr. Scientia. Away you two go, before Ravus _does_ come looking."

The man makes a dismissive gesture as he turns his attention out towards the crowd once more. It's only in passing that Ignis manages to take note of way a few customers—and dancers—further down the bar look alarmed when he stands to follow Gladio. The closer they get to the back room, the more aware he becomes of the looks and quite a few stares that are slowly breaking the haze of arousal.

Gladio leads him back to the heavy velvet curtain and tips his head a little to seem polite, when he draws back the curtain; he uses the gesture to mutter what Ignis assumes is a reassurance, "Don't pay them mind. Someone else'll distract them sooner or later, just keep your shoulders squared and your head up."

Ignis scoffs, softly, giving the man a mildly annoyed look from the corner of his eye, "I assure you it takes more than a few affronted stares to intimidate me."

There's something just short of nostalgic in Gladio's smile this time; he easily covers it within seconds by putting on a more confident, practiced grin, and lets the curtain drop behind them to escort Ignis down the hall.

"Well, can't rightly have any of my clients uncomfortable because of the others. Give me a little bit of credit, at least."

"Where credit is due, certainly."

His laugh, this time, is lost under the various sounds echoing down a long hall. Music blending together in a jarring manner from the rooms in use, moans, and—from some rooms—skin meeting skin that actually makes Ignis jump a little with the scream that resounds from the room. He gives Gladio a curious look as they pass by the room.

"We have a few doms that have regular subs." The man supplies without needing to be asked. He still throws the room an unamused glower, "They're supposed to keep to the end of the hall since their clients tend to be a bit more... vulgar than others."

A few doors further and he finally stops, spinning a pair of keys around his finger, "Ignoring them, though. Before we go in, I'm obligated to ask what exactly you're paying for."

"You certainly haven't been too keen on obligations thus far." Ignis points out; but, he sees no reason not to answer and gives a mild shrug, "A single song. Your choice. Two-way contact."

He'd considered one-way contact... but, honestly, he can't see himself _not_ touching the other man. Mostly curiosity to touch his abs. (And the jeans, still; but mostly irrelevant to his interest in the toned physique at the moment.)

"Got the perfect song in mind already." Gladio grins and finally opens the door, mocking a grandeur bow, "Please, after you."

Ignis rolls his eyes a little with the gesture, but he still smiles and steps inside, taking a quick glance around the room. Like everything else he's seen of the club, the private rooms are remarkably clean and well furnished. The bed looks comfortable and is more than the twin he's seen in other establishments. A custom-size, a little smaller than a Queen-size. Plain sheets, likely for easy cleaning, plenty of pillows. A dresser against the far wall, lined with candles and he can only imagine what's in the drawers. At the end of the bed is a rather lush looking love-seat—rather vintage, too, like something out of Altissian decor a few decades earlier. Charming, none the less, and far more comfortable looking than a regular chair.

The wall opposite of the bed has a low, long coffee table with a full sound system set up on and around it, along with four towers worth of CDs. They're kept well organised, if the way Gladio immediately finds the CD he wants is any indication. Ignis makes himself comfortable in the center of the loveseat, eyeing the pole between him and the coffee table with interest.

"Private pole dances are an option as well?"

"For some of us." Gladio doesn't look up from cycling through the tracks, "Not really advertised too much, since we have the poles out on stage, too. Why, want a pole dance, too?"

The spark of mischief is back in his eyes when he looks over his shoulder; Ignis just shakes his head, "Not this time, thank you."

Gladio doesn't answer past a hum as he apparently finds his desired song, hips already beginning to sway in anticipation to the song.

Honestly, Ignis isn't sure what song he was expecting, but he _immediately_ recognises the opening and quirks a brow, "This is almost a... five minute... song...."

He coughs to clear his throat, unable to stop himself from following the contour of muscle as Gladio slips out of his vest and lyrics begin to fill the room. Heat and warmth spread through his body, quicker than he's used to and leaves him light headed for a moment. Just a moment, as he follows the rhythmic steps closing the distance between them.

_Take a bottle_

_Shake it up_

Gladio grins down at him when he straddles him, hands braced on the back of the loveseat, still just enough room between them not to cause friction, "So? Said I could pick the song."

Even when he's talking, his body is moving, closer and then away before they touch. One hand travels down Ignis' arm, prompting and guiding his hand to rest on the hem of Gladio's jeans. For a moment, just a moment, he's distracted by finally identifying the faux leather material; just a moment, before his fingers hook in the nearest belt loop, coaxing him closer the next time he rolls his hips and barely keeps himself from moaning.

"I didn't say it was a _bad_ choice."

There's a quiet challenge between them, each waiting for the other to make the first noise that isn't a taunt.

Gladio dips his head, breath hot against Ignis' neck, "Two-way contact's pretty ambiguous, ain't it? Don't mind you leavin' marks on me... you?"

Ignis inhales, sharply, when he feels teeth graze his neck in a taunt and gives a mild nod. Both hands are now at Gladio's waist, one hand traveling up his torso, while the other hand stays, fingers digging into the flesh above his jeans. He admires the ripple of muscles for the briefest moment before he feels the soft bite on his neck. Not enough to leave an outstanding mark, but enough to draw his attention and almost make him forget to mind his voice.

"Rather foul play, isn't it?"

He shifts, just enough to arch into Gladio the next time his hips roll forward and they both bite out a swear. Both lose. Neither of them care, it just makes the motions that follow all the more intense, with neither caring how vocal they are anymore.

"Fair, foul, who cares," Gladio's laugh is breathless, hand working to undo the buttons on Ignis' shirt, smoothing across his chest and further down as the buttons fall open, "All good isn't it?"

There's a vague knocking in the background. One that Ignis can mostly ignore, at first. It's enough to distract him from answering; but, Gladio makes sure he doesn't ask by biting down much harder, hard enough to leave a bruise this time and makes a rather pleased noise when Ignis swears.

"Better—"

The knocking gets sharper and, now, Ignis can tell that Gladio was ignoring it on purpose.

He throws an annoyed look over his shoulder, the hand still braced on the back of the couch gripping hard enough that Ignis would swear he hears the wooden frame protesting. He reaches across the couch for a stereo remote, aiming it back to pause the song with an irritable growl, "This _better_ be good!"

For a moment, there's silence. Long enough that Ignis feels a vein in his forehead throb in equal annoyance. Eventually, the person finally speaks up.

"I was honestly expecting you to ignore that. Anyways, Ravus is looking for you. _Again_."

Gladio inhales deeply and looks down at Ignis with a thin smile, "So... you've been pretty level-headed all night... wanna remind me that murder is illegal?"

It takes Ignis a moment to clear his head. Long enough for the voice on the other side of the voice to get a few more remarks in—most notably ' _Today, if you please_!'—before he clears his throat.

"Well, seeing as you just informed me of your plan and would likely carry out the deed in front of me. I would be an accomplice and we'd both be in rather unfortunate amounts of legal trouble. I doubt we'd end up sharing a cell. So. Perhaps keep your temper?"

Surprisingly—pleasantly—enough, Gladio laughs, "Yeah. Definitely like you. All right, lemme go deal with this idiot...."

He groans when he slides off Ignis' lap and grumbles a string of curses when he goes over to the door, yanking it open with much more force than he really needs to. Ignis can't see the other person around him, so he settles for listening to the conversation.

"Pretty sure Ravus has _rules_ about interrupting a private session, Loqi. So. Someone better be dead or dying, if you're bothering me."

"More like _you_ are seconds from getting fired," Loqi retorts with an indignant sniff, though there is a little bit of trepidation to his tone that says he's intimidated by the man, "You have clients lined up for tonight, you can't just—"

" _Loqi, I'm only going to tell you **once**_ \--"

Ignis can only assume the other man flees because Gladio slams the door a moment later and lets out a strained breath.

"... Sorry you had to hear that. I'll tell Wesks to cut the dance from your bill."

"I don't mind paying." Ignis shrugs a little, eyes traveling down Gladio's body in a pointed manner, "I suppose there would be consequences to finishing."

"If it's who I think? Probably. C'mon." Gladio gives him a smile—not the same smiles from earlier, this one's rather painstakingly, obviously fake and one he wears around work regularly, "If there's time later, I'll make it up to you. If it happens to be after hours, I'll treat you to a late dinner, early breakfast. Deal?"

Ignis considers the words before finally pulling himself to his feet with some difficulty (quietly curses his slacks) and begins fixing his shirt back to a presentable state, "I'll not have you treating me for something out of your control. But I will agree to a meal, since you don't seem too worried about the general rules."

That earns him a real laugh, "What the Hell's Ravus going to do? Ain't worried about him."

With that out of the way, he opens the door, allowing Ignis to leave first so he can lock the door behind them, and begins leading the way back down the hall. It's all expected and completely normal... except that Gladio's hand is resting against Ignis' back, like he doesn't even realise he's done it. Ignis makes no mention of it, just monitors the man out the corner of his eye.

He soon confirms that the guiding touch was entirely intentional, as Gladio withdraws the touch as soon as they pass the velvet curtain and part ways. Ignis returns to the bar, while Gladio disappears into the crowd, a plausible, coy smile decorating his face.

The barstool is far less comfortable than it was earlier and Ignis groans softly, his arms crossing on the bar and his head falling into his arms miserably, "I'm beginning to believe a gin and tonic is in order."

"Oh? No more wine, Mr. Scientia?" Weskham teases, though he soon amends with an apology, "I tried to deter Loqi. Quite unfortunately, he listens to absolutely _no one_ other than Ravus... and even that isn't always a guarantee. My most sincere apologies."

"Quite all right. Listening to him realise his mistake was some form of consolation." Ignis finally pulls himself up, looking over his shoulder to try finding Gladio. He frowns a little when he doesn't spot the man as easily as before, "I suppose it would be invasive and inappropriate to ask what the emergency was."

"Hardly," Weskham snorts, "I'm sure you've noticed that Gladio doesn't care about such standards. It's also a good chance to bribe you into a membership." The man gives him a sly grin, "The only reason they won this argument was because patrons with our membership cards get preferential treatment. Private dances are normally negotiable; but, there are some patrons—Gladio has a handful—that are more demanding than others. Nothing he can't handle, mind you, but this definitely isn't the first time he's been interrupted."

"If two members were to have a clash of interests, then?" Ignis asks, genuinely curious, since Loqi made it sound like there was a queue lined up.

"They have to wait in those instances, unless they come to an agreement that the worker also agrees to. They normally can't, so you generally have a few people seething when such things happen. For members, it's first come, first serve. Some reserve days _weeks_ in advance, just to be certain they have someone's undivided attention. Today just happened to be one of those days. Gladio knew that and still chose to test the man's patience." Despite the brief look of disgust, there's a curious light in Weskham's eyes, "Of course... he's rather drastically underestimating Gladio. Tonight will have an interesting end, I'm certain."

Ignis gives a slow nod and lets out a grateful sigh when the man slides him a gin and tonic, "My thanks." He takes a quick sip, considers his words for a long moment before he finally finds his voice again, "Would it be terribly difficult to apply for the membership program?"

"Not in the least," Weskham assures him with a wide grin. He pulls a clipboard from beneath the register, as though he were waiting for this opportunity, and presents both the board and a pen to Ignis, "All you need to do is fill this out. I, or Ravus, will contact you when your application is approved if we do not see you first."

Ignis nods as he's filling information in. If nothing else, he can at least ensure this mess _doesn't_ happen a second time.

"Do you think he'll be free again, before the night ends?"

He didn't mean to ask that. Really, he didn't. But, the question leaves before he can stop himself and he clears his throat a little as he slides the clipboard back across the bar, "Just... as a point of curiosity."

The smile he gets is a curious one. One he can't decipher past the amusement; he doesn't try for very long, in favour of disappointment, when Weskham shakes his head, "Sorry. One client raised hell; but, the others all agreed to a cease fire for a stage dance, so... that's a bit of a consolation prize, isn't it?"

Ignis decides not to mention that they're meeting after hours and merely gives a smile and short nod. At the very least, he can accept watching a second dance and finds himself waiting with genuinely eager curiosity.

Whether it's more for the song or the promise of the after hours... well.

He'll figure that out later.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading o/ lemme know if you spot typos, friends! Now, I need to go take medicine and keel over for a few hours~ Ciao, friends!


End file.
